Vacation's Over
by anticute
Summary: IM1. Moviesverse. Welcome home, Tony Stark. Like nothing has changed. But you aren't ignorant anymore are you, Tony? No. You aren't. But you will suck it up and move along.


i get increasingly lazy to do clever title and summary as i post these. title reasoning: not because of the line he gives to pepper. but because the instrumental piece when he returns home is called "Vacation's Over."

**VACATION'S OVER**  
IM1. Welcome home, Tony Stark. Like nothing has changed.  
But you aren't ignorant anymore are you, Tony?  
No. You aren't. But you will suck it up and move along.

* * *

So you're home. And it's only been...what? Five seconds? A minute? Since you've been back on solid American ground. And Rhodey's at your side. Potts is standing primly in front of you. And Happy's grinning at you, positioned near the car - like he always has, like how you exactly remember. Like nothing has changed.

You want to untuck your dress shirt from your trousers, unbutton the few top ones, to scratch this incessant itch on your chest. Except, the itch is actually just a faint, strange feeling that something is smack-dab on your chest - heavy, pulsating, but simultaneously strangely light and absent. And oh, hey. It's your RT and it's only been three months apparently? and the edge of having something _imbedded_ in you is slowly wearing off. The fact remains a novelty...of sorts: there is a hole right _in_ you, but filled up with something you built yourself within a few days - or hours, or even minutes. You didn't really keep track of time; you relied on Yinsen to do that for you. For the both of you. To time when an escape was possible. Math, numbers, and memory had never been more imperative in both your lives. What was it? 41 steps straight ahead; then 16 steps, that's from the door, fork right, 33 steps, turn right? Something like that.

(Precisely like that, actually.)

It's a matter of adjusting. And you have experience with adjusting and adapting to situations, since you were very young.

Your mother leaving you at preschool and you don't remember this, but your fingers clung to her brown curls and you scratched her cheek with your tantrum, but then you calmed down and kissed her boo-boo (you used to give wet kisses and she would let them dry on her cheek). Boarding school and readily, but bitterly, leaving your father (or what you felt was your father leaving you), and your mother clinging to you. Your parents' death and you remember clinging to her brown curls; you remember cursing, shouting, _screaming_ until your voice went hoarse, at him because you never fucking got to show him what you were capa-...what you _created_ (JARVIS) and you never would or will, and you were angry about that Never. The New Kid, CEO of SI at only twenty-one, and Armani suits and women cling to you and you to them, and so on.

So, you're used to things changing abruptly. That's why you didn't react much when you heard Rhodey was in the hospital - motorcycle accident. You didn't react when you were given Rhodey's bloodied leather jacket, that you had given him three months after his birthday, and fuck it. You did react. You _did._

(Your first question - or rather demand, was if Rhodey needed blood. Because that was the thing with your parents. There wasn't enough time for the blood to arrive. There was a small chance only your father would have survived.)

And at twenty years old, you didn't know how the hell to begin adapting and dealing and hell if therapy could do shit, if something were to happen to Rhodey.

So many years of learning how to adapt - you still wouldn't know what to do without Rhodey.

(There's a reason why you live in the moment so vibrantly - to hold onto moments, of the present, before the next moment changes everything entirely. You live life on an edge, ready to fall at any given moment.)

So you take inventory of your party again. Rhodey: side. Pepper: front. Happy: car.

You get into that car and shift yourself into your seat, adjusting yourself slowly as you do so. The drugs are damn effective - you don't realize you just moved your arm in a way that normally would make you stifle a grunt. Pepper slides into the car, at your side, and settles comfortably in her own place. Like she's _actually_ comfortable being here, again. And you know she can't really be that comfortable. But maybe she is.

(She isn't. She's got her own adjusting to do. But you haven't always been the observant one anyway.)

You want the window down. Enjoy the California polluted air. But you probably shouldn't. There are too many people, too many eyes, and judges all around you, to do that freely.

That much hasn't changed.

It was viciously bright out there - sweet Californian sun beaming down at you, Rhodey, Pepper, Happy. And it's the first since three months.

Everything is too dark in this car. Your eyes are naturally affected by the change of light - spotting in your eyes, as you blink continually to adjust and adjust.

(Then again: there wasn't too much lighting back there, in the cave. So. You should be used to it, to such weird and sudden light environments. You should. And you're trying.

You are.)

You're feeling a little claustrophobic, though. Your tie, maybe, is too tight. You can't remember if it was Rhodey or some other person that did it. No, it wasn't Rhodey. Rhodey knows how to make a good tie. He's the one who taught you how to tie the other styles that you weren't familiar with, one late night of procrastination. You taught him the ones your mother taught you, the ones you watched your father make.

And you remember all the times that you've asked Pepper to fix your ties. Or really, when she steps up to the task, to you, and does it anyway. She's got the art of ties down. Loose, but proper. Right in this car, right in the same seats. An hour before a business lunch meeting - or really, (a laugh) thirty minutes before said lunch. Thirty seconds before another event, driving up to the curb of the entrance. Her quick, petite fingers. Your babbling on. Obie on the speaker to make sure you're on your way to wherever. Happy joining in on the conversation, with some cursing remarks on people's poor driving. California traffic is crazy and always will be. Sometimes Rhodey across from you; silent sometimes, talkative other times - but mainly supportive, if not a little (a lot) frustrated at your...yourness.

Three months ago. And damn, you can't even remember what the hell was going on the last time, the time when they were all in the car with you.

You take inventory again. Pepper: side. Happy: front. Rhodey: probably in the car behind you or something. You don't get why he isn't in the car with you (he's been there every turn and corner since finding you.) But Rhodey probably has some responsibility to attend to and you've never understood that either.

Pepper's doing inventory and responsibility, too. Her customary to-do list. First on it: she wants you to go to the hospital.

No. What you want-

You're not asking exactly for what she thinks. Half of you is, though, because your libido had to take a step back for three months. You haven't seen women in three months. You haven't seen Pepper in three months and let's face it, she's always been hot, but only considered with your hands off policy. And you haven't had a chance to be _yourself_ entirely (not just sex, but every bit of you - good, bad, ambiguous, everything), for three months. You've been Tony Stark, with survival as your task, and never turning off your brain (not that it ever turns off) in order to _get the hell out_.

It's the kind of work ethic, the dedication, Obie wants from you 24/7 and for three months - that's what you were exactly doing. Constantly working and barely playing.

But.

You haven't got the heart to do it. You know you probably _should_ hit on Pepper, because you recognize there is some tension in the air. And there's gotta be some ice breaker. You've always been good at ice breakers.

But.

You don't really have the heart to say it. To finish that line. It's insinuated what you intend - and clever, clever Potts gets it and sidesteps you in that clever, graceful way that she always has and always will. And half of you _wants_ to say it - just for habit, for normalcy, because it's who you are. But the other half - the engulfing, consuming half (as ever-present as your pulsating RT) - just can't. Literally can't. You don't have the energy to do it. Nor do you actually have the energy to _do it_.

It's just not on the top of your mind right now. Hasn't been, really, for three months.

Funny.

Priorities.

That's a funny word.

What you do want is (because you don't _have_ to do anything):

"I want an American cheeseburger."

Preferably in the next thirteen minutes. If you're right and remember what Rhodey had told you when you asked where the nearest fast food joint was, right before the jet completely landed - your request shouldn't be too big a deal. If you're right and remember how fast Happy is on the road, and also remember (know) how effective and efficient Pepper is - then that'll give you all enough time to...

"...to call for a press conference now."

* * *

i do not blame ANYONE if this takes more than a once read. because it took me forever to edit and i am still just all, "TONY. WHAT IS EVEN GOING ON IN YOUR HEAD."

but then i was like, "WELL. OH WELL. GOOD LUCK READING. next ficlet."

next ficlet ahoys.


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